


Mad.

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, PWP, bruce you dirrrrty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing Tony working is fascinating in all kinds of ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad.

Watching Tony work is infinitely amusing, especially if he’s completely engrossed in something. He gets the wildest glint in his eyes, his hair goes unwashed, the vast majority of his tank tops end up with pit stains. His goggles start to leave rings around his eyes from leaving them on for lengthy periods. Bruce has caught him eating meals while wearing them more than once. It’s so different from his put-together public personality. Well, semi-put together.

Today he’s working on his cars, and motor oil streaks up his arms with his sweat, sticks to his white tank top. Bruce isn’t even sure why he came down to the garage anymore. He hasn’t seen Tony’s head in about an hour, but he definitely doesn’t mind the view. “Don’t you need a flashlight or something?” Tony taps his arc reactor without looking up. Right. He takes a seat in one of Tony’s high metal stools and takes a sip of his bottled Coke as he watches him work.

He wonders what he has to do to get Tony to pay attention. He laughs at himself for having such a childish thought. But he finished his work (or got too frustrated with it to continue) hours ago, and had already tried entertaining himself with books and movies. He kicks off his Tony-dubbed “Jesus sandals” and rubs Tony’s kneecap with his toes, moves a little bit up his thigh. The sick thunk of Tony’s head on the undercarriage makes him stop immediately. “Tony?”

Tony rolls out from under the car holding his head. Blood is gushing out over his gloved hand, and Bruce’s eyes get wider. So much for sex appeal. “Sorry, Jesus, sorry, oh—“ Calmly Tony hands him the first aid kit, and Bruce goes into doctor mode as he pulls out some gauze and antiseptic and butterfly bandaids, and pulls Tony’s goggles up off his head to treat his wound. He knows it looks worse than it is—it’s a head wound—but he still feels like an idiot nonetheless. Tony winces as he cleans it with some alcohol, but he’s actually pretty still and calm. From all the nicks and cuts and burns on Tony’s body Bruce doesn’t have to use his imagination to know he’s had plenty of worse accidents. Once he’s all cleaned up and bandaged Bruce squeezes his hand.

“It’s alright, doc.” Tony splits into a grin. The wrinkles around his eyes only accentuate the ring of grime around where his goggles were, makes him look that much wilder. “Do I need a shot?”

Bruce rolls his eyes. Of course he’s fine. He kisses Tony’s cheek anyway. “I think you’re fine, Mr. Stark.” He runs his hand through Tony’s hair and grimaces when he pulls his hand back and it’s covered in blood. He shows Tony with a dark smile on his face. “Just fine.”

Tony shakes his head and grins back, teeth a flash of white against his oil-darkened face. “Bet you like seeing me all dirrrty, don’t you, doc?” Bruce clears his throat and takes another sip of Coke. “Ah, you’re so easy, Bruce.” He watches intently as Tony wipes his face off with his tank top by pulling the bottom up almost all the way off his body.

He might be right. Bruce gets on his knees on the harsh concrete floor of the garage and licks the salty sweat off Tony’s hips, and looks up to see Tony’s lazy smile. “Can’t stand it, can you?”

“Just thought I should make it up to you, you know. Making you bump your head.”

“Bullshit. You _want_ to suck my cock.” Bruce can’t quite deny that either. He smears black on Tony’s hipbones with his thumbs and presses his lips to both, tastes the bitterness of it on his tongue. He licks a beeline across Tony’s waist, and he smiles against his stomach as he shivers.

Bruce swears Tony wears his jeans lower than most teenage girls. He pulls Tony’s ass into his lap and licks the outside of his zipper slowly, ignoring the bite of it on his tongue. Tony sits up on his elbows—presumably to see—and Bruce licks a little harder. His body and clothes say mechanic but his hair standing on end and the way his eyes dance as he watches definitely say more mad scientist.

“ _Bruce_ —jesus. The blood loss already made me light-headed.” That’s bullshit; he hadn’t even lost that much. And he sounds as whiny as a toddler. Bruce unbuttons his pants and forces his tongue against the new expanse of skin without pushing his zipper out of the way at all. Tony’s fingers flex in his hair and the tug makes him gasp against Tony’s skin.

He smirks before snaking a hand in Tony’s pants, and then tilts his head quizzically, feeling around more. “You’re not wearing… underwear.” Tony is sneering above him, ruffles his curls a little.

“Astute observation, Mr. Double PhD.”

“Did you actually work on the car at all?”

“Of course. I fucked with it very precisely.” Bruce rolls his eyes, and pulls Tony’s pants the rest of the way off. He couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips as the heat of his cock radiated next to his face. He holds the base of it, lets it slide against his cheek as he felt Tony’s legs shift around him. He hums against the tip as Tony pulls his hair again.

Slowly, he wraps his lips around his cock, and the low groan Tony gives as his head rolls back is exactly what he wants to hear. He loves that Tony is so vocal, his lilt when he flicks his tongue over the tip. He makes his lips wetter before sucking him down to the base and Tony jerks above him. Bruce can’t tear his eyes away from his scrunched up face. Tony doesn’t even try to hide it. If he could talk he would be teasing the hell out of him for it.

Tony’s head pushes his head down until he’s gagging and can’t think more about it. It’s good, it’s always good, the drag against the ridges of his throat and the slick velveteen of his cock against his tongue. Hot, needy, heady; everything that makes him think of Tony and it makes him moan around his cock. “Bruce, Bruce, god—“ he hears above him, and Tony’s twist and yank his hair again. The pain of it goes straight to his cock, and he hopes this isn’t just supposed to be a nonreciprocal favor.

He sucks fast, hard, until Tony’s bucking under him and saying strings of uncensored things loudly in the hot air. Bruce reaches up and twists his nipples, smearing them with the black of the oil still on his hands. God, that’s hot. Tony’s back arches clear off the floor and Bruce swallows and chokes around him. Some of his random phrases turn into apologies, but Bruce doesn’t care. He cinches his hands on Tony’s waist and fucks him with his face until he sees his glittering eyes turn dark with imminence.

Tony comes with a long, low moan, fingers curling tight in Bruce’s hair and keeping him down until he’s finished spilling down his throat. Bruce pulls back up and sputters, wiping his hand ungracefully across the back of his mouth to both clean the saliva and hide his stupid grin. “Does that make up for it?” Tony’s is splayed out spread eagle like he never plans on moving again.

“Bruce.” Bruce can’t help but chuckle hoarsely at how much that took out of him. “Yes, Bruce. God.” Tony rubs his head wound. “What a stupid question.”

“So much for coming on to you.”


End file.
